


Project Koschei

by CinnaAtHeart



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Assassins, EWE, F/M, Hermione was turned into a Hydra Asset, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Slavery/Magical Bondage, that's the basis of this whole story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:57:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years ago, the British wizarding world lost the Brightest Witch of the Age.<br/>Twenty years ago, Project Koshei gained a new and unexpected 'volunteer'.<br/>And Hydra?<br/>Hydra gained a new and shiny asset; the Morrígan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. March 18th 2016; 0236 Hours

**Author's Note:**

> After three years of writing fanfiction, I have come to the conclusion that I do a lot of really terrible things to the characters I love. Is that bad? I wanna say... no?
> 
> This story is non epilogue compliant for the Harry Potter canon. Post the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione goes to Australia to retrieve her parents, but is caught by a magic users body trafficking ring of non-specific origins and sold on to Project Koschei, an offshoot of Hydra. For time purposes, I have pushed the events of Harry Potter back by approximately two years, meaning that the Battle of Hogwarts occurred in 1996. Thus, all of the characters in canon are two years older that they would normally have been. Hope that doesn't go ruffling up too many feathers :P
> 
> So this story is pre Avengers AoU- in that it diverges from the canon and acts as though the events of the movie did not happen. It is post CACW, and the storyline diverges off from Agents of Shield S02E10- Skye has her powers, but has at some point learnt how to control them. Mack and Bobbi are still around and totes not doing anything suspicious. And we’re also going to pretend that that thing at the end of ep10 with Trip absolutely never happened.

_March 18th 2016; 0236 Hours_

 

Dresden’s Hydra base is semi-abandoned, according to their intelligence.

Only it isn’t, they quickly learn; and when they get out of this shithole, Bucky resolves to find out which poor bastard thought it was and give them a thorough kick up the ass. The place is _crawling_ with Hydra operatives- which normally he’d have found odd, because the facility is on the small side, but this is one of the last bolt holes left in Europe, and all the slimy bastards that have escaped their previous raids have ended up here, it seems. Honestly he’s surprised (and maybe a little suspicious) that none of them worked it out _before_ they started the raid. It would have saved Bucky the headache, at any rate.

According to the original plans, Bucky and Natalia are responsible for intel retrieval; sweeping in after an auspicious entrance from Steve and Co (there were a number of explosions involved) to wipe out remnant agents still in hiding and retrieve any information they could from the base’s aged systems. Their task is forced onto the backburner for a good long while to deal with the unexpected number of Hydra agents, and neither have the chance to get to the comms room.

But that’s okay; Bucky is nothing if not adaptable.

They head for the communications room almost on instinct. They’ve been to a lot of bases in the last ten months; it hadn’t taken long to work out that Hydra has a formula that they like to stick to when it comes to base layout.

A woman lurches out of a room, eyes wide. She holds a gun; her hands only tremble slightly. She has the look of a scientist or technician, with her thick black-framed glasses and slight heels. Natalia is on her in an instant and Bucky forces his way past them into the comms room. This section of the base has been largely empty, filled mostly with labs that at this time of night (or morning) are naturally empty.

He shoots the two men inside point blank, baring his teeth at the sharp pain the spreads from his right arm- one of the techs had managed to get a shot out before he’d killed him. The wound is only a scratch, but it’s annoying nonetheless.

He takes in their target; it’s a control room, the walls are covered in computer screens for surveillance (a part of him despairs at how poorly protected it was). A number of them show only static- Clint’s work, no doubt. He pulls out his flash drive, plugging it into the first port he can find and wait for the virus on the drive to do the rest. It's made to corrupt all the files and non-essential programs it can reach- irreversible by anyone not on his team, and ultimately leaving each Hydra base dead in the water. It’s Stark make and infallible- according to Stark, at least. He’s not so sure about the infallible part, but it’s worked so far.

His eyes slide over what are left of the screens. One room catches his eye, but his more immediate concern is the pack of operatives headed straight for Sam and that SHIELD girl, Skye.

“Sam, you’ve got five hostiles heading straight for you. Automatics, by the looks of it.”

“ _On it_.” Sam hisses through his earpiece. On the screen, the pair turn and move into one an empty corridor to ambush the men. Bucky smiles grimly; he’s confident in their abilities.

Natasha saunters in, dragging the bound and gagged woman in behind her, “Anything good?”

He shakes his head, but his eyes stray back to the screen, thinking. In his ear he can hear that the raid is wrapping up, and the virus takes barely a minute to cripple all of Hydra’s systems.

“Most of the labs were cleared out a while ago, I think. Nonessential activities.”

Natasha hums, eyes to the monitors, “That’s what two-bit here said too.” He stands. Her eyes narrow, “Where are you going?”

He glances back at her from the door, “I wanna check something out. Shouldn’t be long.”

Natasha stares at him a long moment, and nods, “Don’t do something dumb.”

He waves a hand in acknowledgement and walks out.

He doesn’t come across anyone else; most combatants had gone to seek their noisier companions, and the ones that are still left are likely battling it out with the likes of the skeleton crew of the Avengers or Coulson’s posse. The room he seeks is on the level below this one; mostly store rooms and sleeping quarters. He glides past the empty rooms, checking inside each more as a precaution than anyone else.

The room is at the end of the long hall. It spans the whole of the end wall. A metal door is all that shows there is something there.

He knows what’s in there. Has woken up in rooms like these for decades.

He doesn’t bother with the electronic pad- just wedges his hands into the cracks of the doorway and tears it off. The hiss of ruined hydraulics is supremely satisfying. He can’t even bring himself to care too much about the deafening crash of metal on concrete- there are too few Hydra operatives left to be a threat, anyway.

There is no startled cry from within. The room is empty; empty but for the tank, and the bone white operating table and the mountains of medical machinery that rest around the thing. Like dead insects around the carcass of a long dead beast.

A rage settles within him at the sight of it all; deep and profound, it thrums in his chest- white hot. He wonders if it had been destined for him. The thought of awakening from that cold again is as sickening as it is terrifying.

He advances- intent on dismantling it- when in a fit of horror he realises that the sarcophagi is _on._ He draws in a surprised breath. He should have known Hydra would have made more like him.

Bucky draws closer- memories drawing up to the surface like bloated corpses. He can feel the cold now, and his shoulder gives off a phantom ache at the observation. There is a glass window on one end; it is covered in a thin layer of ice. He wipes away the small ice crystals with his flesh hand.

He stares. Her face through the frost-free glass that burns with cold is serene- almost friendly. He doesn’t remember it looking like that in life _._ Eyes closed, she could almost be asleep; were it not for the unnatural stillness, the hum of machinery and the pallor of a bloodless body.

Is this what he had looked like? Frozen still, like a snapshot of a memory?

All he remembers of the process is the blinding pain, as his body healed the damage the cold had rent on him. Hydra never bothered to keep him under during the thawing process, preferring instead to paralyse him as they replaced the antifreeze in his veins with blood and warmed his body. Each time he went under was like dying, to him. Dying, before being reborn in the blaze of fire, like a phoenix from the ashes.  

He remembers her face; pale, thin, with lifeless brown eyes and hair cropped short around her face. In life it was almost as still as it is in this eerie simulacra of death. He remembers the absent face and the sharp yet dead eyes, contrasting so oddly with the uncontrollable curls of brown hair that sat on her forehead, untouched and ignored. It’s different now- her hair is longer- jaw length, curling behind her ears- and whatever had happened after they’d worked together had lost her an eye. The absence of scarring around her left eye socket unnerves him more than he imagines the scars would.

He remembers her.

The Morrígan . 


	2. November 12th 2002; 1745 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! This story will kind of swing between the past and present for the first few chapters, but will focus more and more in the present as time goes on.
> 
> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT. PLEASE SEE END OF CHAPTER FOR NOTES IF THAT AIN'T YOUR THING

 

_November 12_ _th_ _2002; 1745 Hours_

"Get up," a voice growls. Deep. Disdainful.

He complies, though his muscles scream at the movement. He feels lethargic. The cold lingers in his bones painfully; like ice crystals that have yet to melt. He ignores the weapons pointed his way. Previous experiences have taught him that resistance is met with beatings. Or worse.

For a moment he searches his memories- tries to recall what he had done the last time they had let him out. He must have done something wrong; all that he can sense is the gaping void of burnt-out memories and the shrieking pain of the chair.

He settles on the task at hand.

"You will be working with the Morrigan," the nameless handler says. In English- though the accent is American.

The Asset blinks. He's never worked  _with_  someone before (not that he can remember, at any rate); not in the truest sense of the term. He knows better than to question this.

The handler gives him the paper file; it's in Cyrillic. It's not the first time he has just been handed the file and brief for a mission, but it's not exactly a common occurrence either. Most of his handlers choose to just tell him what was expected. Something to do with restriction of information. He knows better than to say anything.

He takes the file and the handler moves back. There is a look on his face that speaks of disdain and disgust. It's not the first time he's seen them on a handler. Unlikely to be the last. A part of him- the weak, recalcitrant voice that rears its head rarely- wants to test him.

He bows his head in obedience instead.

A smirk appears on the handler's face, "Stay here," he orders, and leaves. His armed guards stay behind.

He waits in silence, the sound of paper turning and quiet breathing the only noise to interrupt it.

It was a training exercise. He and 'The Morrigan' were to be released into a small, abandoned military facility. They were to eliminate a long list of targets- mostly criminals; armed- within seventy-two hours with minimal damage to the environs. An exact number of targets were to be killed each day- failure to comply would be met with unspecified penalties. It means covert operations; limited fire power. Easy enough, with two people. Even with the unknown entity of 'The Morrigan'.

He eyes the notes on the Morrigan. Age and name are unspecified. Her talents are listed simply as 'magic/non-rational; covert operations'. If he could, he would probably be curious about that, but as the matter stands, he's certain he's going to find out about it sooner or later. He lingers on her short, but involved history. Over twenty missions in the past four years; more than he's probably done in a decade.

Not that he can be sure of that; time tends to run in stops and starts for him; it is rare for him to get a hold of a date. But her work is nothing if not thorough; her success rate is almost as infallible as his, though he can see that there are large gaps of time between her few failed missions and her next. Any history prior to 1996 is not mentioned.

The door opens quietly, but the sound of heavy, booted footsteps had preceded it by several minutes. The handler re-enters first, and a trio of men follow behind him. A girl stands between them. She is a head shorter than himself. Her footsteps are silent amongst the heavy sounds of combat boots.

Fragments of a red room flash through his mind. Of little girls forced to fight and kill. This girl is not one of them, he is sure. He blinks away the memory.

"You will be working with the Morrigan," the handler repeats unnecessarily.

He blinks again. She is younger than him by perhaps a decade, though her eyes- flat and cold- look far older. He takes in the clipped short hair, the willowy figure and the light brown eyes. She wears black combat pants, with reinforced knees and a vest similar to his own. He can see the glint of something silver wrapped around her throat, hidden somewhat by the leather of her collar. Her arms below the elbows are left bare- lightly scarred. He lingers on her right forearm; a strange, woody growth extends along the flat expanse of skin. It looks as though it's a natural part of her.

"Morrigan," the handler addresses the girl. Her eyes snap over to him, turning wide and guileless. She looks almost innocent in that moment.

"Master," she intones. The breathy quality of her voice is unnerving.

"You will work with the Asset on this mission. At 0400 hours both of you will be released on ground level. You both know your instructions." Her gaze slides over to him, only now paying him any attention. Her eyes hover over his left arm, but no expression shows on her face.

"And Morrigan," her attention flips back to their handler, as though tugged there by an unseen force, "Do not forget your secondary objective."

She bows her head, "As you wish, Master."

The handler smiles- a twisted, ugly thing- and leers at her, "Indeed." He sneers. He motions between the two of them, "Acquaintances made. Morrigan, come with me. You will remain here, Soldier. Do as you wish."

"Yes, Master," the girl replies and moves over to him, all sweet and unthinking compliance.

He leads her out of the room with a sun-spotted hand resting on the small of her back.

The Morrigan doesn't so much as flinch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIGHT, SO. 
> 
> Yes, there is IMPLIED sexual assault in this fic. I'm not gonna lie- this is gonna be a dark and angsty fic, designed to explore the implications that Hermione's appearance will have on the Avengers team, and those that loved her before she was lost (I meam, she lost an eye, if that wasn't clear enough in the previous chapter).
> 
> But WITH THAT SAID, PK isn't going to really be focusing on the implied sexual abuse of Hermione, so much as her recovery (and Bucky's). So I mean, if sexual abuse ain't your thing, but you're okay with it remaining implied, and NEVER explicitly described, then by all means carry on reading. Especially if you enjoy angst.


	3. March 18th 2016; 0546 Hours

 

_March 18_ _th_ _2016; 0546 Hours_

"Who is she?"

Bucky twitches. His eyes remain trained on the sarcophagi as it trundles past, headed for the cargo hold of the Bus, "The Morrigan."

A soft intake of breath behind them; Natasha. "Project Koschei."

"She's all that survived of it."

Sam shuffles beside him, "For those who couldn't memorise everything on those Hydra files?"

"The super-soldier serum." Natasha offers. Her voice is tight, "They tried it on almost everything, back in the day." Bucky's eyes slide over to the redhead. Her face is expressionless; eyes flat, "Koschei was on Magicals."

Sam snorts, then thinks better of it, "See, once I'd have asked you to pull the other one. I know better now. But please, enlighten me- when you say 'magicals', are you talking witches and wizards kind of magical here? Gandalf waving his staff around kind of shit?" He sounds like he doesn't believe what he's saying; Bucky doesn't blame him.

"Exactly like witches and wizards." Natasha says darkly, "Among other things. Werewolves; vampires. Whatever and whoever they could get their hands on, they tried it. Only magic and the serum don't mix. Fatality rate for the project was almost one-hundred percent. Until the Morrigan, none of the subjects survived past the twelve month mark."

Sam sighs heavily, "Was really hoping you were going to no to that."

"The Morrigan. She-" Bucky breaks off. It's still hard to put into words his life before the fall of SHIELD and Hydra, "I worked with her. Once… twice maybe." The memories are a blur still- most of his are- and he can't be sure if what he's remembering are two separate missions, or one long one, "She was… like me. Ruthless, skilled… empty. I think she was there to replace me if I went rogue, honestly."

Sam clasps him on the shoulder in sympathy. As if sensing their tension, Steve looks up from his discussion with Skye- she'd been responsible for decoding Stark's virus and retrieving all the data they could from the outpost. Bucky sends him a strained smile.

Director Coulson sidles up to them at that point, "We've got her secured. We can take her to a secure facility. Rehabilitate her."

Bucky feels the stirrings of suspicion in his gut. It's not that he doesn't trust Coulson- the guy seems alright- but his experience with paramilitary organisations has hardly been a shining one.

"We're coming with you."

Sam starts, "We are?" Bucky shoots him a glare, "Right. Yeah. The Morrigan. We'll come with."

" _Smooth_." Natasha murmurs, shifting and linking her arm with Bucky's. It still catches him off guard sometimes, the way his teammates show their affections with casual touches. In his experience, touching had never been a casual endeavour- always aimed to influence or hurt those it was granted to.

Coulson shrugs, but the small twitch at the corner of his mouth looks pleased, "If that's what you want. Is it possible she'd recognise you?"

Bucky shrugs, "I don't know. Depends on whether they wiped her between missions. And it's been a while… I think."

Natasha shakes her head, "According to her reports, after the initial wiping, there were no signs of regression. So no need to wipe her."

Sam's eyes stray over to the Bus. He looks immeasurably sad- it's not a good look on the man, Bucky decides.

"Do you have any clue who she is?" his friend asks.

Coulson shrugs, "We're running facial recognition, but it's hard to tell with magicals- some of them have never been near a mundane camera in their lives. Too segregated to get a proper match. But we'll see what we can do."

Bucky nods slowly, "We'll tag along behind you."

Coulson's lip twitches, "By all means." He replies dryly, "We should be ready to go in another hour or so."

Bucky's eyes slide back over to where the Morrigan hides in her sarcophagi of ice. He wonders what has changed since he last saw her, or if she's remained as frozen as her body.

"Good." He says finally. Natalia and Sam have already moved off to speak with Steve, "We'll see you there."


	4. November 15th 2002; 0526 Hours

 

_November 15_ _th_ _2002; 0526 Hours_

She was better than him.

She was better. He could accept that. He didn't like it, but he could accept it.

It wasn't that she was better at combat than him. Yes, she had magic (and fuck but wasn't that an eye opener. Her powers are beyond anything he can ever remember encountering before), and in most circumstances he knew it was more than enough to eliminate her opponents, but her moves in combat were too raw- too unrefined. Whoever has trained her had been good, but not diligent (though at least they had taught her the benefits of ruthlessness). The Asset could see her openings- little vulnerabilities here and there that would be fatal were they enemies.

But the Morrigan was better in other ways.

A better asset. She did not have free reign- not within the Hydra facility, at any rate- but her guards were relaxed and apathetic of her presence, as though she didn't pose a threat to them. It spoke of past good behaviour- of a docility and obedience that he fundamentally lacked- even when his mind was stripped to the quick. Part of him wonders- as he watches her conjure tiny lights that flicker around her hands in the small hours of morning (at first he had been concerned, but she had promised him that they were only visible to the two of them)- if they'd ever even had the need to stick her in the Chair.

It's in the collar, he suspects. He's caught here more than once running her fingers across the torque of silver, her eyes empty and dead. He's certain she's not even sure of what she's doing. Part of him envies that level of surrender.

He breathes through his nose to settle himself and turns to look out the window of the attic they're holed up in. it's still pitch black outside; the sun won't rise for a few hours yet. He prepares for the daylight. They are not allowed to kill in the darkness… the first days had been easy, but now those who were left were the smart ones. The dangerous ones. They would prove the true challenge in their mission.

"You should rest." The Morrigan says suddenly. Her voice is soft, with the lyrical twist on an English accent.

"Sleep is not necessary." It is a default response, but true. Sleep is not needed for this mission, even if his eyelids feel dry and uncomfortable.

She hums- almost silent- an puts out the lights on her hand. The room is enveloped in darkness once again, "I did not say sleep. Though that is good too."

"I am… resting." He is unused to speaking this much. It is odd how much she likes to speak. Talking led to punishment, when words were given without permission. There are the faint memories of this lesson being burnt into him, but they have faded with time. The learnings remain though.

She eyes the plethora of weapons set in front of him. Most have been cleaned a number of times already this night. There is not much to do in the darkness but wait for the faint possibility of being discovered by their targets. It had taken two days for their prey to realize they were being hunted; now their nights are spent in hiding from their targets, waiting for dawn to break and the abandoned suburb to become theirs again. Sleep is a dangerous pastime.

"You should rest." She says again. He glares at her. The Morrigan purses her lips- a faint creasing around the mouth- and looks away. The fairy lights are re-conjured. He turns back to his weapons.

They wait in silence once more for the sun to rise.


	5. March 18th 2016; 1145 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some answers are given, others are asked.

_March 18 th 2016; 1145 Hours_

“We have a match.” Skye says triumphantly when they reconvene at the Playground. She looks like she’s almost vibrating with enthusiasm. Bucky isn’t entirely sure if it’s appropriate. From what he can remember, the girl had been enslaved.

His misgivings must show on his face, because she flushed a clear her throat awkwardly, “I mean- we’ve got a match.” She delivers it this time in a more serious tone. Her body shifts, evidently wanting to lead them through to the conference room.

“Where is everyone?” Natasha purrs unnecessarily; they all know that Coulson must be dying to give them a debriefing. Skye leads them off deeper into the Playground. The conference room (which isn’t exactly big) is already filled with Coulson’s lot. They pack themselves into the room, finding places to fit in with minimal fuss (well, except for Stark, but the man was a drama queen at the best of times). Clint perches himself on top of a filing cabinet like it’s a thing he does everyday (although to be fair, it probably is). Bucky is reminded of sardines. Deadly sardines. With guns.

“So what have we got?” Steve asks the moment everyone is settled.

Coulson sighs heavily, “What we’ve got is a diplomatic nightmare.” He motions behind him and Skye brings up a missing persons report on the holographic screen. Bucky blinks; for a moment he could have sworn the picture of the woman had moved.

“Hermione Granger.” Clint reads out from his perch. He frowns thoughtfully, “Why does that make her a nightmare?”

“That would be because of me.”

The effect on the room is instantaneous; at least ten weapons are drawn and aimed at the newcomer. The young man raises his arms, unphased by the number of guns pointed his way, “Wow. Okay. Glad none of you are trigger happy, I guess.”

“Who are you?” Agent May demands. The man tilts his head, looking at her queerly. He snorts softly.

“Sorry; it’s been a while since someone hasn’t recognised me.”

Eyebrows rise in what must the 80 percent of the room. The man’s lips twitch like he’s trying to stop himself from laughing.

Coulson sighs again, “Auror Potter, thank-you for coming at such short notice.”

The mirth fades away, but a small, self-depreciating smile remains, “Head Auror now. I got promoted.”

Coulson blinks, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” His eyes stray to the image of the Granger girl- she must be in her teens in that image, but it is unmistakably the Morrigan, “That’s the old poster of Hermione.”

The Director sighs, “Yes.” He motions around the room- no one’s lowered their weapons, “Stand down. Head Auror Potter is an ally; he’s been SHIELD’s liaison with Wizarding Britain for a few years.”

“A few years? Try a decade.” Coulson shrugs, “And call me Harry. Or at least Potter. Head Auror Potter is three syllables too long.”

Skye gapes (she’s not the only one), and glares at Coulson, “Wizarding? _Wizarding??!_ Have you been holding out on me _again?_ Phil, please tell me you’re talking about actual magic here.”

Bucky shares a look with Natalia.

Stark snorts derisively, “So you’re telling us you’re what? A wizard? You gonna wave your magic stick around and read to us from a magic book?”

“Oh yeah, sure.” Potter remarks dryly. Bucky gets the sense this isn’t the first time he’s gone through this, “I can do all kinds of things. You wanna see me pull a rabbit out a hat, too?”

Stark doesn’t reply, but Bucky can see the retort lying on the tip of his tongue, just waiting.

Potter’s eyes travel around the room, searching for a place to sit (there isn’t any, naturally. The newcomer doesn’t seem to mind terribly much). His eyes linger particularly on Clint, perched as he is on the cabinet. A smirk lingers in the lines of his mouth, but disappears quickly enough.

“You said you had information about Hermione?”

Coulson clears this throat. He looks almost nervous, “We have reason to believe that we’ve found her.”

Whatever colour had been in the younger man’s face disappears. He breathes shakily through his nose. Mack offers the Englishman his chair and he all but collapses into it, “You found her.” He breathes. A hand rises to rub at his jaw, “Oh Merlin you’ve _found her_.” He looks up sharply, his bright green eyes sharp and keen, “Is she alive?”

Skye, lurking behind the Director, cringes, “We think so?”

Potter’s eyes narrow, and whatever benign look that had hung around the man disappears, “You _think_?”

The British half of the FitzSimmons duet (he’s still not entirely sure which one she is) pipes up before a diplomatic nightmare turns into a reality, “We’re going through the all of the relevant information we have on her now.” The woman says reassuringly, with all of her wide-eyed sincerity, “But we discovered her in a cryogenic tank.  Cryogenics are a dangerous and complicated procedure. Even with our solid understanding of the process, we can’t be sure, if we took her out if she’d even wake up.”

“Cryogenic tank…” Potter echoes in shock.

She smiles at him kindly, “Cryogenics are-”

“-I know what cryogenics are!” Potter snaps. Fitz/Simmons flushes and he purses his lips apologetically, looking back down and his knees, “Sorry, I’m just kind of invested in this. Hermione was my best friend. We fought through a war together.”

To his right, Steve shifts. Bucky can imagine what’s going through his head right now.

The wizard looks back up, “Why is she in cryo?”

“It’s... ah. How they stored her, per se. In between missions.”

“Stored her.” Potter says flatly. His lips curl back in an angry snarl, “Like a piece of _meat_.”

Bucky wonders if this was what Steve was like when he found out about the ice.

Coulson raises a hand to halt the conversation before it could derail any further, “Please, Auror Potter. I invited you to the debriefing because I thought you would have some valuable information to add to this discussion. Any and all of your questions should be answered.”

The lines of Potter’s shoulders grow taught for a long moment, before he sighs heavily and leans back into his chair. The creases around his face are pronounced and troubled. Bucky wonders what exactly the Morrigan was to him all those years ago, “Of course,” he says, rubbing at his face with his left hand. Bucky catches sight of a pale line of scarring cutting across the skin before the man drops it back into his lap. Strange; for a moment he almost thought it looked like _words_ , “Carry on. The DMLE will do whatever it can to help.”

Coulson smiles- a small thing, barely a smile at all- and Skye emerges from behind him like nothing had ever happened, “Agent Skye will be happy to fill you in.”

“Ah- right,” she fiddles with something on her tablet and the screen behind her lights up with a new image of a satellite image of a featureless stretch of forest. She clears her throat, “In 2001, SHIELD investigated reports of an explosion of extreme magnitude originating from a remote area in Papua New Guinea. SHEILD agents found the remnants of a secret lab- largely destroyed by the explosion. No survivors were found.

“Our agents were unable to recover the data from the labs computers- it was concluded at a later date that the explosion that had wiped out all of its inhabitants had also cleaned the hard drives- most likely through some kind of EMP wave; however a significant amount of the labs records were able to be retrieved as hardcopies, in a section of the lab that had avoided the worst of the blast.

“Of particular interest was the subject codenamed ‘The Morrigan’. No information could be found pertaining to her origins, and the notes regarding her experimentation and blending with the serum remained unaccounted for, however photographs and notes of her successful blending turned up time and time again. From what SHIELD could garner, the lab in PNG was a subsidiary branch of a larger group- most likely originating in Eastern Europe, which had been operating since the mid-1950s. The lab that was discovered had likely been constructed in the 1980s.

“By the end of the SHIELD inquest, it was concluded that the explosion had been caused by a subject who, upon being blended with the supersoldier serum had become unstable. The resulting explosion had wiped out most of the facility, and killed all complex life forms in a hundred and fifty foot radius.”

Beside him, Steve sighs heavily, “It always comes down to the super-soldier serum, doesn’t it?”

Skye bites her lip. Natasha’s eyes narrow, “Why wasn’t the incident investigated further? SHIELD’s policy on the serum and its offshoots are clear. And the ability to wipe out life in a radius that large would surely have drawn some heat from the World Security Council.”

“About that…” Skye fiddles with her tablet some more, and old SHIELD personnel files of Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins appear on the screen. Steve sucks in a sharp breath, “Turns out, these two were head of the security detail. In fact, most of the agents sent to take care of the place were known affiliates of Hydra. The investigation, inquest and reports themselves were all signed and approved by Alexander Pierce. Chances are _Director Fury_ never even knew about it, let along the WSC. Most of these files we only found _post_ data dump- as you’d well know.”

Natasha inclines her head, satisfied with the response.

“That’s all well and good,” Potter says, frowning at the stoic faces of Rumlow and Rollins, “But what’s this got to do with Hermione? Are you saying that she was there? Or that she took part in the experiments?”

Skye shifts uncomfortably; she looks extremely troubled, “Well, then we have this-” she pulls up a video file, “We found this in one of the Hydra archives in Italy a few months ago. Prior to today, I had no context for the footage- thanks for that, Coulson-” Coulson rolls his eyes, “it was only labelled ‘subject 135’; just thrown in with a pile of junk, presumably meant for disposal.”

She clicks on the file and the video plays. It’s low quality and _old_ \- has obviously been converted digitally at some point. In the grainy image, a woman is pulled into the room. Her arms are tied behind her back, judging from the awkward way her chest thrusts out. She struggles against the men that hold her arms, eyes wide. Her mouth is gagged.

“Miss Granger.” A man says from behind the camera. His accent is Scottish. Her eyes latch onto him- just above and to the right of the camera. There is no recognition on her face.

One of the men holding her tears off the gag. She snarls at him and he backhands her viciously. The force of it sends her sprawling to the concrete floor. When she looks back up, her nose is bleeding and there is blood on her teeth.

“What do you want with me?” she spits out. Her fury is incandescent.

A cold laugh, “Not what you think.”

She laughs- high pitched and bitter, “I doubt that.”

The voice steps around the camera, closer to the woman. The man is short, painfully thin. His hair is bone white and cropped short. She pulls herself awkwardly into a kneeling position. The hand of one of her captors prevents her from rising further.

“I won’t tell you anything.”

“I don’t want you to tell my anything. It’s only a happy coincidence that brings you here, my dear. But you will be of use, I am sure.”

Her eyes widen and she attempts to draw back, appalled. The old man laughs, “I thought you might do that. I’ve heard tell you are a proficient legilimens. In my line of work such barriers have been pointless.”

The girl sobs, “All those _people!_ All that death! You’re a monster.”

The man hums, unaffected, “We sacrifice much for the price of progress, my dear.”

She keens and sags in the other men’s hold, “Oh God- _your son!_ ”

This time he slaps her. She cries out at the pain but does not fall. When he speaks, his voice is calm and collected, “Was not strong enough. But… perhaps you will be the one, my dear.” He pulls a stick from his sleeve.

She shakes her head, the terror on her face clear as day, even on the grainy footage, and begins to struggle valiantly against her captors and the strip of wood at her head, “No _\- please_. _No- HARR-_ ”

“ _Subtranaturius memoria_.”

Like a switch being thrown, her face goes blank and serene. She sags in their arms again and Bucky watches as two thick columns of what looks like a silvery gas come out from her eyes, intertwining into a glittery rope. Following the direction of the man’s wand, they float through the air and he guides them carefully into a large glass flask. In the lull of silence, he stoppers the flask and labels it, moving away from the camera momentarily to place it somewhere.

She looks up in confusion when he returns. The old man caresses her face. The action is almost tender, “I don’t… I… where am I?”

The man pockets his wand and draws away, “You are with Project Koschei, my child. I am Doctor Sinclair. You volunteered to be a part of this bold new endeavour; don’t you remember?”

She looks, bewildered, at the two men that stand on either side of her. They’ve moved away, and she pulls her arms around, rubbing at the remnants of marks on her wrists, “Yes, of course, Doctor. How silly of me.”

“It is of no consequence my dear. Now, you must get up. There is much that must be done in preparation.”

She stands- docile and calm- her eyes falling on the camera, and the footage goes black.

The room is quiet.

To his right, Potter is crying silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I did make up the memory spell, for those who were wondering. Its full effects will be discussed in future chapters :)


	6. Project Koschei lab notes 1998, assorted dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A selection of notes from 1998, made by Dr Andrew MacDuff, scientist and team leader of Project Koschei, spanning September and October of 1998.

Project Koschei lab notes 1998, assorted dates

_10_ _th_ _September 1998_

Project Koschei gains two new candidates; 2-65 and 2-66. Female and male respectively. Both are physically strong and fit individuals. Magic inhibitors have been administered in preparation for serum. Both have reacted well to the suppressors; no signs of allergic reactions. Further observations of fitness and possible negative reactions to suppressors will be noted in the following days.

Serum treatments will begin in three days.

_13_ _th_ _September 1998_

Subject 2-65: First of ten treatments.

Subject 2-65 shows promising signs of survival; gradual titration of the serum appears to have greater success in previous trials. Titration with subject 2-60 was found to be too great a dose, and unlike 2-61, 2-65 has voiced a determination to survive the process (see  _autotermination_ , report 36). Use of magic inhibitors are monitoring the slow-release dispersal of the serum admirably- no evidence of abnormal growth or beginnings of necrosis in organ tissues. Nine more treatments required for full saturation of the serum.

_20_ _th_ _September 1998_

Subject 2-64 terminated for dissection. Autopsy findings report promising muscle growth, however heart failed to support increased strength and muscle mass. Two heart attacks occurred within 12 hours before permission granted for termination. Inspection of the pancreas showed early signs of necrosis, similar to 2-61. Improvements in diet may be necessary for prevention in future subjects.

Biopsy of 2-65 shows increased concentration of the serum in the liver. Previous experience has shown improper dispersion of serum causes abnormal growth and in some cases cancerous growths and necrosis. Attempts to be made to mitigate further side effects. Even distribution of serum remains a problem, but there has been substantial improvement in the process since Koschei's genesis. Eight treatments remain for 2-65.

_1_ _st_ _October 1998_

Subject 2-62 died overnight. Autopsy shows the serum increased subject's metabolism ahead of schedule. Magical inhibitors were metabolised several hours before next scheduled dosage, resulting in fluctuation in subject's magic. Reactions with the serum caused sudden and uncontrolled growth of bones. 2-63's skin and muscles failed to follow increased growth rate. Resultant bones were frail and 'birdlike' due to uncontrolled expansion.

Possibility of inhibitor potions to create similar problems in other subjects; 2-63, 2-64, 2-65 and 2-66 to be removed from inhibitor potions immediately. External inhibitors may have more success.

Subject 2-63 has four treatments remaining, however my colleague Dr. Fernandez has raised some concerns over their mental stability. 2-63 has had several severe mood swings over the past month, is prone to severe manic depression despite medication and mind wipes- to take a leaf out of our funder's book. Further monitoring is advised to prevent another autotermination (see report 63).

S2-65 is progressing nicely. After the initial errors of the first treatment, the slow release serum has proven to be largely problem-free. Temperament remains friendly and inquisitive, despite evident discomfort. Her partner 2-66 however has displayed several aggressive and hostile episodes, and has disobeyed or attacked a number of my colleagues on numerous occasions, with increased frequency. Suitability as a candidate for this project should be reassessed.

Four treatments remain for 2-65 and 2-66.

Subject 2-64 has one treatment left. I remain optimistic of his success.

_5_ _th_ _October 1998_

2-63 attacked her handler at 0615 hours. Guards shot her three times before managing to suppress her- once in the leg, twice in the stomach. Her handler has six fractured and shattered bones- definitive evidence of the success of the treatments. Despite the setback, it is satisfying to see that even at seven treatments, the serum has promising effects on the body. Damage to 2-62's leg is already showing encouraging signs of healing, thought her gut wound is proving to be problematic, with several organs all but shredded.

The final treatment of 2-64 was completed today. He has been a worthy candidate of the Koschei program, and his tenth treatment has been as smooth as his others. More observations and biopsies will be conducted in the following weeks, to prove that the serum has been a success. Only then may we take him off the magic inhibitors and tests his true worth to the program.

2-65 remains as problem-free as 2-64. It is interesting to note that both are muggle-born; further studies should be conducted to investigate this correlation. Her temper remains relatively docile, though her naturally high intelligence may not be entirely suitable for the intended outcomes of the project.

In contrast to 2-64 and 2-65, 2-66's aggression appears to grow with every treatment. Restraints are now necessary to prevent him from attacking anyone he comes in contact with. Even a secondary mind-wipe has had little success. Dr. Fernandez is likely to advise his unsuitability any day now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just a little interlude between chapters. Suspend your disbelief about accuracy of the science here, by all means. (no really, suspend any disbelief. Please). Hermione is subject 2-65, just for clarification, btw.
> 
> The next chapter is halfwritten (yay!). Uni permitting, I'll get it up in the next few weeks! Thank-you to everyone who left a comment! You are the absolute best, and I'm glad you've enjoyed the ride so far! XD
> 
> For those who're interested, come check me out on tumblr or instagram (cinnaatheart in both cases)! I've got writings and artworks up there. If you're interested, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> The Morrigan, from Wikipedia: 'the primary themes associated with the Morrígan are battle, strife, and sovereignty. She sometimes appears in the form of a crow, flying above the warriors, and in the Ulster Cycle she also takes the forms of an eel, a wolf and a cow. She is generally considered a war deity comparable with the Germanic Valkyries, although her association with a cow may also suggest a role connected with wealth and the land.'
> 
> Don't forget you can always check me out on [tumblr](http://cinnaatheart.tumblr.com/)


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